


Far Off from Zero Distance

by Yuno



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff and Angst, In more ways than one, M/M, Middle School Flashbacks, Nothing explicit, hanamiya is definitely a masochist tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuno/pseuds/Yuno
Summary: Hanamiya wakes with a fever and Imayoshi is charged with taking care of him. It's about as much of a nightmare as it sounds like.





	Far Off from Zero Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at the "Character A gets sick so Character B takes care of them and ends up getting sick as well" trope. Except this is ImaHana, so nothing good can come out of it... right?

Hanamiya Makoto knew it was going to be a shitty day when he awoke on the morning of his chemistry final with a 102 degree fever. Well, at least chemistry was his best subject—he figured he could still do well even though he could feel his heartbeat hammering inside his head and his entire body ached worse than it did after a two-week-long training camp. Karma is a bitch (he knew that all too well), but for fuck’s sake. He’d managed to only moderately injure two basketball players within the past week—certainly an exercise in restraint. Couldn’t the gods of test-taking or karma or whatever cut him some slack?

The thick blankets covering him felt heavier than weights, but Hanamiya managed to throw them off and roll out of bed, groaning the entire time. As he made his way to the kitchen, he tried to act as normal as possible, mumbling a low “morning” to his mother as he reached behind her to grab juice from the fridge.

“Good morning, Makoto!” As usual, his mom was bright and cheery first thing in the morning, the very opposite of Hanamiya. She turned to pass him a plate of piping hot breakfast and, being just as perceptive as her son, noticed his red cheeks and unfocused eyes right away. She ushered Hanamiya immediately back to his room, ignoring his indignant protests and even going as far as to tuck him into bed.

Hanamiya didn’t have the energy physically, so he closed his eyes and let the scene play out for now. He heard her go back to rummage around the kitchen cabinets.

“We’re out of pills, so I’m going to the convenience store to get some,” his mother said when she returned to his room. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Wait.” Hanamiya sat up slightly in bed. “Don’t you have work today?”

“It’s all right.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “I can take the day off.”

“You don’t have to,” Hanamiya insisted. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Really.” He put on his best puppy dog face, and since his eyes were watery from fever, he was halfway there already. His mom still didn’t look convinced though, so he added, “I’ll just drink warm fluids and sleep it off. I won’t go anywhere, I promise.”

Ever since his father had passed away during his elementary school years, the Hanamiya family had been a household of two. Hanamiya’s mother had done her best (and was still doing her best) as a single parent, and he returned the favor by never being a hindrance to her, no matter how small. Just thinking that she might have to miss work to take care of him made his insides churn with nausea. It took a few more minutes of persuasion, but Hanamiya finally convinced his mother to head to work.

He lay in bed for a bit, listening to the sound of the car engine fading in the distance. Once he made absolutely sure that his mother had left, he quickly donned his school uniform, ignoring the shivers racking his entire body and the beads of sweat forming on his neck and back. Grabbing his keys and backpack, he made his way out the front door. He planned to ace that chemistry test even if it killed him, dammit.

 

~~~

 

Hanamiya corners Imayoshi in an empty hallway after school and Imayoshi lets himself be cornered. Why? Because Hanamiya is a piece of shit and he’s bored. Because Imayoshi has been busy with high school entrance exams and has barely seen his favorite kouhai in weeks. Because Hanamiya feels like they’re plummeting towards the end of middle school faster than he hospitalized the basketball team manager’s son, which means that both of them will be attending different schools soon enough, and although he’s loathe to admit it, Hanamiya is more than a little terrified.

 _What’s going to connect us once all of this is over?_ Hanamiya desperately wants to ask. _Are we still going to have this? What even is “this”?_

_What am I to you, Shouichi-senpai?_

But since Hanamiya is a hormonal teenage boy, he asks instead, “How does it feel?”, tacking on a sneer for good measure.

Imayoshi remains composed, an easy smile plastered to his face as usual. It makes Hanamiya want to scream. Isn’t he afraid too? Or has Hanamiya been overestimating his worth the entire time?

“How does what feel?” the other boy responds, the corners of his eyes lined with faux concern.

Fine. If Imayoshi won’t say it, then Hanamiya won’t either. Instead, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “The fact that they’ve named me an Uncrowned King and not you.”

Imayoshi actually raises his eyebrows in surprise, almost opening his eyes in the process. Almost. “Should I be jealous?”

“Aren’t you?” It’s not the question Hanamiya really wants to ask, and they both know it.

“Why would I be? You deserve the title.” Imayoshi’s tone is so saccharine sweet that it takes all of Hanamiya’s willpower not to visibly cringe. “You’ve worked very hard, framing the manager and crippling his son in order to become team captain. And yet everyone still sees you as a saint!” Imayoshi chuckles fondly. “No one but you could accomplish that, Mako-chan.”

The stupid nickname makes Hanamiya’s eye involuntarily twitch in annoyance, but he decides to ignore it for now. “You should be,” Hanamiya insists. “If I were in your position, I’d be pissed.”

Imayoshi shrugs. “You’re always pissed.”

“You’re far more intelligent than the others, especially that idiot Kiyoshi,” Hanamiya continues, ignoring that comment, “and you’re just as formidable on the court as you are in the classroom—no, even more so.” He knows he’s rambling now but can’t bring himself to stop. Can’t bring himself to care. Imayoshi’s expression has shifted slightly, but Hanamiya is beyond noticing at this point. “You know, senpai, I… I’ve always…” He stops himself just in time. What the fuck? What had he been about to confess? Hanamiya shakes his head to clear it. “Anyways. You deserve the title of Uncrowned King. Not them.”

Imayoshi grins, all teeth and no mercy. “You sound more upset about this than I am.”

“Ha!” Hanamiya turns his head slightly, hoping his long bangs and the dim lighting will mask his relieved expression. “So you are upset.”

Somehow, Imayoshi grins even wider than before. His hand drifts to the other boy’s head, patting the top affectionately, running his long, pale fingers through that soft, raven hair. He notes that while Hanamiya displays his signature scowl (how cute), he doesn’t make any move to slap his hand away.

“It’s all right, Mako-chan.” Imayoshi’s voice is knives and silk, along with something else. Affection, perhaps? No. Hanamiya refuses to allow his thoughts to wander that far. “My adorable kouhai went out of his way to meet me, and here he is, singing my praises. What more could I ask for?”

 

~~~

 

The next time Hanamiya opened his eyes, he knew that he’d woken up in hell.

Why else would he be staring straight into the face of Satan himself?

“Well that’s not very nice,” said the bespectacled boy sitting on the edge of his bed. “After I came all this way to take care of you.” It was only then that Hanamiya realized that he’d accidentally said that last part out loud. Stupid fever.

“Imayoshi.” Hanamiya tried to make his voice as flat as possible—the exact opposite of his erratic heartbeat.

“What, no senpai honorific?” Imayoshi’s lips formed in a fake pout. “Your manners have really deteriorated since we last saw each other, _Mako-chan_.”

When _had_ they last seen each other?

Oh, right. It was after the first round of Winter Cup, when Touou had lost to Seirin and Hanamiya had trailed Imayoshi to the locker room with the full intention of gloating, but seeing Imayoshi’s red-rimmed eyes and broken composure had broken something in Hanamiya himself. They’d started verbally sparring as they usually did, but then it escalated to an actual fight and Imayoshi had taunted him with “if only you’d won in the preliminaries we could’ve faced each other in the first round instead, were you even trying?” and Hanamiya had yelled back something like “you think I didn’t want that too _of course I wanted that too you fucking idiot_ ” and he swore that Imayoshi’s eyes had glinted dangerously before they’d… Well. Hanamiya didn’t feel like remembering the rest.

It was hard to believe that already three months had passed since then. Nothing had changed, yet everything was different.

“How are you feeling?” Imayoshi asked. “You looked like you were having a nice dream.”

 _The opposite, actually._ “How the hell did you get in my house?”

“Your mom called me. She asked me to watch over you while she was at work.”

Oh. My. God. Hanamiya lowkey wanted to die. It was embarrassing enough that she thought he needed a babysitter—even worse, she’d decided to pick _Imayoshi_ of all people. Why not Hara, or Furuhashi, or _anyone_ else, really? It’s not like she knew what he and “those nice friends of yours” really did in their spare time. Besides, how did Imayoshi and Hanamiya’s mother even have each other’s numbers? Hanamiya’s fever-muddled brain was going to explode.

“She knew you’d probably try to go to school and take your test,” Imayoshi continued, not even trying to mask his immense enjoyment of Hanamiya’s discomfort, “so she asked me to take care of you. She’s such a sweet lady, your mom. Are you sure you’re related?”

_Test? Finals… chemistry final…_

“FUCK!” Hanamiya practically leapt out of bed, the rush of adrenaline giving him a boost of energy. He ran to check the clock on his desk: 11:28 AM. The test had ended more than an hour ago. “Fuck. FUCK.” If he left now, he could still explain the situation to the teacher and ask for an extension. Everyone saw him as a model student and sportsman, surely they would be lenient...

Before he could finish that thought, Hanamiya promptly collapsed to the floor in an undignified heap.

Imayoshi watched this frenzied scene unfold with a bemused expression. “Shame that such a filthy mouth belongs to such a pretty face.” Then he made his way to where Hanamiya lay on the floor and kneeled beside him, leaning forward so that he and the other boy were at eye level with one another. Unnecessarily close. Wonderfully close.

“Don’t worry, Mako-chan,” Imayoshi’s husky voice sent shivers of pleasure down Hanamiya’s spine. “I already called the school. They’re willing to give you an alternate version of the final, which you’ll take in two days.”

“Oh.” The small, better part of Makoto was grateful; the dominant part was wary of owing Imayoshi a favor. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

Imayoshi smiled back. “You’re very welcome.”

The moment was almost sweet, such a rare sentiment between them, and Hanamiya was kind of savoring it until Imayoshi ruined everything by scooping him up in his arms (so naturally, like he’d done this before) and carrying him princess-style back to the bed. Hanamiya howled in protest, trying to shove Imayoshi’s toned body away from his feverish one.

“Stop squirming, would you?” Imayoshi sighed wistfully. “You were so quiet the first time.”

_The first time?_

“When I came over, I found you collapsed on the front porch, keys in hand. Who do you think carried you back into bed?”

Okay. Now Hanamiya _highkey_ wanted to die.

Once he had lain in bed for a few minutes and calmed down a bit (it was kind of hard to breathe when Imayoshi was staring at him so intently), his senpai handed him a thermos of miso soup. Not even questioning its origins, Hanamiya gulped it down—he was _starving—_ and the warm liquid instantly soothed his aching throat and stomach.

“Thanks,” Hanamiya mumbled grudgingly.

“Hmm?” Imayoshi cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Hanamiya rolled his eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

Imayoshi hummed in agreement as he reached forward and traced the corner of Hanamiya’s lips with the tip of his thumb, wiping away a stray drop of miso soup. Hanamiya thought his hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary, but maybe that was the fever talking. He passed the thermos back as quickly as possible, and though he tried to avoid it, their fingers brushed anyway, sending tingles of electricity up his entire arm. Shit. Why was Hanamiya reacting like this? It wasn’t like he and Imayoshi hadn’t touched each other before. They’d certainly done a lot of other things together too, things that Imayoshi could probably blackmail Hanamiya with by threatening to tell his mother. (So why didn’t he?) Sex wasn’t a big deal to Hanamiya—it was small gestures like these that unnerved him the most.

“Makoto,” Imayoshi said, snapping Hanamiya out of his reverie. “We should talk.”

Hanamiya would later praise himself for acting as nonchalant as he did, even though his heart felt like it was about to pound through his ribcage. Imayoshi never called him by his first name unless he was being completely serious. It was usually the hated _Mako-chan_ when they were alone or sometimes _Hanamiya-kun_ in front of strangers. Never just Makoto.

“Okay,” said Hanamiya, taking a deep breath. “So talk.”

And Imayoshi did. He told Hanamiya how he’d recently gotten accepted into a prestigious university program abroad in the United States, and how he was planning to double major in English and education. Apparently Imayoshi wanted to become a professor. He hadn’t known. (Why hadn’t he known?) It was perfect, really. Hanamiya could imagine the myriads of students who would fill his lecture halls to the brim and fawn over him and crowd his office hours too. Dammit, his throat was starting to hurt again.

“Osaka University is also an option,” Imayoshi continued. If he noticed Hanamiya’s discomfort, he chose not to acknowledge it. “It’s not Tokyo, of course, but it’s still a lot closer than anywhere abroad. What do you think?”

What did he _think?_ He thought he was going to throw up. “I think you should do whatever you want,” Hanamiya responded with a shrug. _Stay in Japan._ “It’s your life.” _Stay here._

_Stay with me._

“I see.” Imayoshi pushed his glasses up, the light reflecting off the lenses rendering his expression unreadable. “I thought you would want us to stay together for a little while longer, Mako-chan.”

Maybe it was the stupid nickname or the thinly disguised disappointment in his tone or the fact that Imayoshi had hit the nail on the head as usual, but something inside Hanamiya snapped. An ugly sneer ripped across his face. “What, did you expect me to beg you to stay?” _Stay together, huh? What a fucking joke._ “Japan or the U.S., it doesn’t matter. We’ll end up at different colleges soon, and we hardly see each other anyway.” It’s the end of middle school all over again.

“Makoto—”

“Congratulations, by the way.” It came out sounding bitter and sarcastic, but Hanamiya realized that the sentiment was completely sincere. He really was proud of his senpai for getting into such top tier schools, even though with every second that passed, it seemed more and more impossible to close the distance between them.

Imayoshi must have realized it too, for he responded, “Thank you,” equally sincere.

An uneasy silence ensued—for once, neither party knew how to continue the dance. Hanamiya lay back in bed, turning so that he faced away from Imayoshi. “You can leave now, by the way,” he said without turning around. “I’m feeling better now. Thanks for the soup. Sorry to bother you.” He sounded as dead as he felt inside.

Exactly five seconds later (he was counting), Hanamiya felt strong fingers lock on his shoulder and flip him onto his back in one swift motion, and he had barely gotten out a “what the _fuck_ ” before Imayoshi was straddling his legs and crushing Hanamiya’s lips with his own.

Hanamiya ignored the initial shock and responded instinctively (they’d done this countless times before), running his tongue along Imayoshi’s teeth. “ _Shouichi-senpai_ ,” he gasped, trying to gain purchase by moving his elbows under him, but Imayoshi’s weight pushed him down again. His mouth parted willingly as Hanamiya’s tongue forced its entry; he grabbed a fistful of the latter’s silky hair and jerked his head to the side, making Hanamiya groan with pain and pleasure. In response, Hanamiya leaned forward and bit the bottom of Imayoshi’s lip—hard enough to leave a red, swollen mark, but not hard enough to draw blood. That part would come later.

When they finally pulled apart, a trail of saliva lingered between them. Annoyingly enough, Imayoshi’s glasses were still perfectly in place, but Hanamiya took some satisfaction in noting his flushed cheeks. Now they both looked feverish.

“You’re going to get sick,” Hanamiya declared triumphantly, wiping the saliva away with a smirk.

“I’m already sick,” Imayoshi replied, “of your bullshit.”

Hanamiya was about to make a derisive retort when he heard the front door click open. “Makoto, I’m back,” his mother’s voice rang throughout the hallway and into his room. Hanamiya glanced at the time—it was already past noon, so she was probably here to get lunch before she headed back to the office. Hanamiya couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed that he was no longer alone with Imayoshi. Likely an odd mixture of both.

Half a minute later, Hanamiya’s mom poked her head around the door. “Ah, Imayoshi-kun is still here? Thanks for taking care of Makoto.”

Imayoshi dipped his head politely. “Anytime, ma’am.” He wore a genuine smile now, the likes of which Hanamiya had never seen before. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “Makoto-kun is such a good company.”

His mother practically beamed (beamed!) at him and asked, “Would you like to stay for lunch?”

“I would love to,” Imayoshi replied, while Hanamiya simultaneously croaked, “Noooo,” his throat still hoarse from the kissing. Guess who his mom decided to listen to? Winking knowingly at her son, she headed back to the kitchen to get started on lunch while Hanamiya stared after her with a look of betrayal. His mother and his senpai actually got along—Imayoshi had even been genuinely polite! Hanamiya wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or pissed off.

Imayoshi grinned triumphantly, and that’s when Hanamiya realized that the other boy was still straddling him. He groaned inwardly. The karma gods were really raining hellfire on him today, weren’t they? In that case, he might as well make the best of it. After all, they had at least half an hour before lunch would be ready.

“Round two?” Although he voiced it like a question, it somehow sounded like an order. Imayoshi smirked and pressed his lips to Hanamiya’s again.

They would have to stop at some point, Hanamiya knew, meaning they would eventually have to talk, really talk, and address the unspoken feelings between them. He didn’t want Imayoshi to leave the country, that much was obvious. He wanted… what did he want? He didn’t have the vocabulary to describe it, but he figured it was similar to how he felt now, the sensation of Imayoshi running his fingers reverently along Hanamiya’s torso and whispering sweet nothings into his ears, this feeling of closeness he didn’t know he’d missed—no, that he hadn’t allowed himself to miss.

They still time, though, so Hanamiya decided to put the thought aside for now. They would sort things out eventually, they always did. Besides, the room was beginning to spin, round and round and round. Hanamiya doubted his fever was solely to blame for it though.

**Author's Note:**

> OML SO MUCH CHEESE AT THE END ;;  
> Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment if you enjoyed it and help me keep this rare pair alive ♥


End file.
